


in her right hand, a silver dagger

by yasgorl



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:10:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasgorl/pseuds/yasgorl
Summary: He’s seen Hux before, a slight, straight backed figure in the distance, always surrounded by the cream of the senior crop. He’s taller than Ben thought he was, lean in a way that makes Ben hyperaware of the great hulk of his own body.





	in her right hand, a silver dagger

Assemblies are a never-ending nightmare. Ben has yet to go to one that didn’t manage to stretch a relatively short amount of time into what felt like half a day.

It’s a hot July afternoon and the air conditioning inside the massive gymnasium struggles to keep up with the press of the heat from outside. Large fans circle what looks like a mile overhead to Ben, seated at the very end of one of the packed bleachers, fidgeting in his seat as the principal finishes up the final announcements. The more bold students have already begun their thumping descent down the middle aisles, slinging their backpacks over their shoulders, ignoring the teachers waving them down.

Ben’s heartbeat picks up as he scans the crowd. He can already feel the oncoming rush of students, warm, impatient bodies pressing each other in a tidal wave towards the door. Rey got called away ten minutes ago by their trig teacher. He watches them converse towards the opposite end of the gym.

When the masses are finally released, Ben clutches his backpack to his chest and pushes resolutely through the crowd, moving against the flow of traffic. He can feel his shoulders rounding as he walks, wishing he could apologize with every step for the great hulk of his body. He missteps and is briefly shoved by the force of the crowd into someone’s side.

“Watch where you’re going!” the stranger hisses, shooting Ben a dirty look. Ben mumbles out an apology, heart lurching in his chest. Sweat builds up at his temples. He keeps pushing forward, the idea of a solitary walk home swaying him more than the temporary terror of the moment. Standing out is probably the last thing Ben wants, ever, and it’s all he ever manages to do. It’ll be different in college, is what his parents keep telling him, which feels like a fever dream to Ben.

Ben gets lost in the crowd for a second, the push and pull and noise overcrowding his mind like a static buzz. When he emerges at the other end, Rey is gone.

“Rey?” Ben calls out. The gymnasium is mostly empty now, the last remaining dregs shuffling towards the doors at the three other corners. The east side where Ben stands is the least convenient exit. There’s nothing but a few feet of straggly grass outside and a fence separating an overgrown, empty field. He’s heard the seniors hop over near the end of the year to spray paint the outcropping of rocks nearby as a final _fuck you_ to the school.

Ben pushes blindly against the exit door, ducking in time to avoid smacking his forehead against the lintel. He freezes in step outside, instantly squinting in the strong afternoon sun. He feels the vibration against his hand before he hears it; the door smacking solidly into someone on the other side.

There’s the sound of a muffled curse. Ben startles in place. He sees a pair of shoes first, a set of scuffed sneakers and a pair of loafers, standing out oddly against the packed dirt. His brain struggles to catch up with what his eyes are seeing; Mr. Hux, the senior comp instructor, and a freshman Ben doesn't recognize, standing in Hux’s shadow with his back to the gym’s wall. There’s an odd, piercing expression on Hux’s face before it smooths over.

“Take a wrong turn, did we...” Hux says calmly, trailing off expectantly. He moves to face Ben as he speaks, blocking Ben’s view of the freshman, who quickly turns in place and hurries the other way, disappearing around the corner. Hux’s expression is indecipherable. Ben’s mind races with the quickest way to extract himself.

“Uh, yes. Sorry,” Ben says. He feels himself hunching his shoulders on instinct. His bag slips from his shoulder and his face goes hot as he bends down to pick it up.

He’s seen Hux before, a slight, straight backed figure in the distance, always surrounded by the cream of the senior crop. He’s taller than Ben thought he was, lean in a way that makes Ben hyperaware of the great hulk of his own body. It’s easy to pick Hux out in a crowd: hair like a flame in the distance, looking like something Ben would probably break in his clumsy paws. Ben’s entertained furtive, embarrassingly mundane fantasies of getting to talk to Hux, which flash in his mind’s eye as he stands there.

“I’m really sorry,” Ben says, pulling back up, clutching his bag in front of his body like a shield.

“It’s quite alright,” Hux says easily, in a soothing tone that instantly puts Ben at ease. Ben has the singular feeling he is being given Hux’s undivided attention, pinning Ben to the spot. He sounds, if anything, slightly amused. Ben can feel his shirt sticking to his back with sweat, hair starting to stick to the sides of his face.

“Remind me of your name again?” Hux asks.

“I’m Ben. Ben Solo,” Ben replies. He scratches at his hair and tucks it back in a fitful gesture, remembering belatedly he’d grown it long for a reason. He sees Hux’s eyes flick to his ear and back to Ben’s face. Hux smiles slightly, in a way that makes Ben’s stomach twist up and his throat go dry. Ben lets his hand flop to his side and wishes for death.

“I’m sure you have better places to be, Mr. Solo,” Hux says. His voice is cool, steely.  Ben feels it in a cool shiver down his spine. Hux takes a step forward and Ben takes an automatic step back. Hux smiles without moving his lips, and for the first time he takes Ben in, eyes flicking up and down. Ben has the distinct feeling everything on his person has been catalogued in that brief second.

“Yeah. I’m leaving. I haven’t--” Ben says. He snaps his mouth shut and slings his bag around, hurrying back towards the gym door. His legs feel like lead, unwieldy. The door yawns open in Ben’s hand then snaps shut as he slips inside.

*

“That asswipe,” Rey says vehemently, once Ben finds her at the far end of the student parking lot. She had been scuffing her shoes through the loose gravel, swinging her bag in hand. “What business does Hux have instigating clandestine meetings with freshmen behind the gym?”

“I didn’t say it was a secret,” Ben mumbles, starting to feel antsy. “And he might be a sophomore.”

Rey shoots him a long suffering look. They lapse into silence, Rey walking fast to keep up with Ben’s loping strides. She’s never asked him to slow down, probably because she’s always had an abundance of energy to match him, nearly bursting at the seams. Ben hopes Rey moves past it, already feeling like this was something he shouldn’t have shared.

He turns the moment with Hux over in his head, wondering what he’d looked like to Hux’s eyes. He feels his cheeks go warm and keeps his gaze resolute as Rey turns to scrutinize him. He concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other and staring at end of the sidewalk, at the ancient light pole marking the turn towards Rey’s house.

“Whatever you say,” she says finally. Ben can hear the shrug in her voice. When he sneaks a sideways glance at her, she’s frowning ahead, brow furrowed. He knows she’s probably back on their upcoming exam, slotting in time to study between all the other bits of their busy schedules.

“I might have to skip band practice on Thursday,” Rey says musingly, and Ben feels a breath of relief escape him. He nods his head and plods alongside, trying hard not to think of the weight of Hux’s gaze on him, the direct force of his attention on Ben for once. When they get to Rey’s turn, Ben declines spending the evening at her place. He speed-walks the rest of the way home.

*

The house is empty when Ben gets home. His father won’t be back for a few weeks more and his mother works late into the evenings. He usually hears her arrive as he’s tucked into bed, thumbing through his phone.

Ben takes a plate of cold cuts from the fridge and makes himself a couple of sandwiches. He eats quickly, standing at the kitchen counter. He probably eats twice as much as most people, his body burning food like a furnace. He’s gonna fill out one of these days, that’s what Ben’s dad keeps telling him, but for now Ben’s lean, oversized, and clumsy in a way that makes him feel like a walking apology. He zones out for a bit and before he knows it he’s uncomfortably full. He drags his backpack to his room and naps until the sun goes down.

*

Ben is asked to stay after the bell during Wednesday’s English class. He waits at the front as the rest of the students file out.

“Mr. Hux has personally seen to your mid-term grading,” Mrs. Downfield says, with wide eyes. Ben has the feeling she means this as an honor. His paper is bleeding red when she pulls it out of her portfolio; an unfamiliar, precise, block lettered penmanship marching across the page. He has to stay for a writing workshop, Mrs. Downfield explains, sympathy and something like excitement heavy in her tone.

Ben feels sick for the rest of the day. Composition has never been his strong suit, and his imminent failure feels like the pause before the guillotine drops. He does some furtive searching on his phone after school, milling about the library courtyard before his appointment. There’s a short, professional blurb on the school’s website with a black and white picture of Hux and a LinkedIn profile Ben can’t access.

He arrives ten minutes early to the instructor’s hall. Hux has a corner office. The door is open when Ben arrives.

“Mr. Hux?” Ben calls out, pushing hesitantly at the door. The room inside is dark paneled and more comfortable looking than Ben had expected. There’s a desk and several chairs at the far side, a set of armchairs, and a low slung leather sofa near a trio of bay windows at the opposite end. Shelving and various cabinetry line the walls.

“Do you make it a habit to snoop on others, Ben?” Hux’s voice emerges from the door, an amused drawl. Ben snaps around and instantly flushes, face going hot.

“No, sir--I--the door,” Ben says, uselessly. Hux shuts the door behind him and takes a seat at his desk, moving with effortless grace.

“Have a seat, Ben,” Hux says. He folds one leg over the other and clasps his hands in his lap. Ben slinks to the chair near Hux and sits down, toes turned inward on instinct. He clutches his bag to his front.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Hux asks.

“Mrs. Downfield said you graded my mid-term,” Ben replies. He unzips his bag with hesitant fingers, afraid to the bring the evidence of his crime to light.

“I do that from time to time,” Hux says. “Step in with the more delicate situations.”

He doesn’t move to accept Ben’s paper, or acknowledge the offer. Ben fumbles for a moment, retracting it before settling it carefully on the edge of Hux’s desk. Hux’s eyes flick down. He eyes it like a bug has landed on his desk.

“The last thing I’d want to do is worry your parents,” Hux says. Ben nods quickly, throat closing up.

“Yes. I don’t--” Ben stumbles. “Don’t tell them. I can fix it.”

Hux smiles slightly and shifts in his chair, reaching for Ben’s paper. He sighs, flipping through the first few pages.

“Personally, I see this as fixable, though it may take more sessions and some work on your part,” Hux says. Relief floods Ben’s chest. It seemed to be a difficult decision on Hux’s part, his forehead marred as he stares down at the embarrassment of Ben’s writing. Ben itches to take it from his hands.

“Yes. Definitely. I’ll work on it, sir,” Ben says quickly.

The corner of Hux’s eyes crinkle, amusement at something Ben can’t decipher. Ben opens his mouth, wondering how he should correct the silly thing he’s said, but Hux is moving on. He sets Ben’s paper down on his desk and shuffles a pile of papers to order. Ben’s eyes track Hux’s hands as he pulls a drawer open and sets the stack inside.

“This stays with me,” Hux says, with finality. He pushes the drawer shut. “Just between us. Mrs. Downfield will get a passing grade for you, and we can work on the rest. Our little secret.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hux,” Ben says quickly. His fingers feel like claws, digging into his bag, palms sweaty. He’d always felt like a joke at this school, and the feeling of being found out feels terrifying and true. He’s overcome with gratefulness.

“Just Hux,” Hux says, voice light. “We’re friends now, after all.”

*

Ben thinks about Hux once he’s home and well into dinner, distracted enough that his parents’ usual back and forth barely registers. The wash of relief after their meeting is still palpable. _We’re friends,_ Hux had said, and he’d looked at Ben like an equal, seemed to understand Ben’s frustration, like he was really looking at Ben and not through him, not seeing Ben as a tangle of unsolvable problems.

Ben holds onto the thought like a life raft. His mind returns to the feeling of Hux’s singular gaze on him throughout the evening, the way the setting sun had set shadows to play against the pale skin of Hux’s throat.

He doesn’t see Hux again for a couple of days. They have a meeting set for that Friday afternoon. Ben makes up an excuse for why he won’t be walking Rey home that day, which she takes easily while shoveling spaghetti into her mouth during Thursday’s lunch, her Spanish textbook open in her lap.

“Alright, you do you,” she says, talking around her food. She sticks an arm to the side and pulls a battered set of index cards from her bag, held together by a thick rubber band.

“Here. Quiz me,” Rey says, and she tosses the stack across the table to Ben.

*

The first half hour flies by in Hux’s office. He’s all business as soon as Ben steps in, walking him through the first run of editing. He’s methodical in a way that feels revelatory to Ben, like Hux has the key to a door Ben never even knew existed. He’s almost giddy with relief, mind racing as he catches onto Hux’s words, seeing the mess of his thoughts come together on page. He listens fiercely to every word, leaning forward in his seat to watch the steady movement of Hux’s pen across the page.

“Time for a little break,” Hux says, finally, when they’ve reached the last page. He rises smoothly from his desk. Ben sits back and watches Hux approach a cabinet off to one side. The front slides open on what looks like a pulley system, disappearing underneath. Ben has relaxed somewhat in their time together. Hux is sharp and witty and intelligent by turns. Ben tilts his head to watch, feeling a prick of surprise as Hux withdraws a bottle of scotch.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Hux says with a drawl, his back to Ben. His voice is light, conspiratorial. Ben forces himself to relax.

“It’s cool,” he replies, with a shrug, and he’s proud of how casual it comes out. Hux looks back with a crooked brow. He makes a show of pouring a second glass and handing it to Ben.

“Join me,” he says, moving away to the leather sofa. The sun sinks pink and gold beyond the bay windows, lighting up the hazy mist hovering over the track.

Ben feels odd with the weighted glass in hand. He follows Hux carefully, and tries to sit the way Hux has, easily, arm thrown around the back. He ends up fidgeting in place once seated, his big hands dwarfing the delicate glass. Hux sips at his drink, impervious to Ben's agitation. The light catches on Hux's hair and eyelashes, making them seem to glow.

“Ben,” Hux says sternly. Ben flushes, caught staring. He's missed something. 

“We were discussing Ophelia's infatuation with Hamlet earlier,” Hux prompts.

“Oh, yeah,” Ben replies.

“Ever heard the expression ‘write what you know’” Hux asks. He seems at ease, foot swaying slightly in the air.

“I’ve heard it,” Ben says. He swallows heavily, Hux’s crisp enunciation of _infatuation_ making him restless. Associations spring to mind in a flurry of images.

“What do you know, Ben?” Hux says. His eyes are fixed on Ben, suddenly eerily still.

Ben thinks of a stuffy closet, snickers and jeers muffled by closed door, the stumbling bump of his nose against another, mumbled apologies. He feels the tips of his ears go red. Hux smiles like he can read Ben’s mind.

“I’ve done stuff,” Ben says, jaw going tight. He tries to hold Hux’s gaze and ends up down at Hux’s mouth. Suddenly he’s picturing the way Hux must kiss, if he were Ben playing Seven Minutes in Heaven.

“What?”

“Kissing.”

“And how did that go?”

Ben glares at Hux, shifting in his seat. He sets his drink down on the coffee table and briefly considers escaping.

“Calm down,” Hux says, standing. He leaves his glass next to Ben’s and sits beside him on the sofa.

“Everything comes with practice. Just like your paper. Don’t you see how well it came together with a few light edits?”

If that was light, Ben didn’t want to know what Hux considered heavy.

“Yes,” Ben replies, more of a question. He stares at Hux as a nebulous realization blooms, eyes flitting from Hux’s gaze to his lips.

“I’m going to be a good friend and give you a few tips,” Hux says. He frowns, like he’s thinking through a puzzle. “Unfortunately I’ll have to show you. It might not stick if I just tell you how it’s done, don’t you think?”

Ben feels his chest go tight. He feels caught out, like Hux has circled in red a personal failing the same way he’d marked up Ben’s shitty grammar.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“No. I agree,” Ben says quickly. He has to force himself to relax his death grip on his knees. “I think you should show me. Please.”

Hux moves in his seat, folding a leg in so he’s facing Ben’s way. Ben blinks quickly, not knowing what to expect. The formless anticipation is all it takes for him to feel a mortifying pull in his gut, an urgent coil of heat.

“Some people might say I shouldn’t,” Hux says with a sigh.

“No. Please. I think you should,” Ben replies quickly, before Hux can change his mind. “And I don’t care what people think.”

Ben doesn’t think he’s going to get a chance like this again, or ever. He slides closer to Hux, placing a careful hand to Hux’s thigh. Hux’s eyes don’t move from Ben’s face as he speaks.

“Take your hand away, Ben,” he says quietly.

Ben snatches his hand back.

“Sorry,” he says. His heart hammers in his chest.

“I’m going to help you so you won’t make this too difficult. You’ll pay attention and follow my lead. Simple enough?”

“Yes. Okay,” Ben says.

There’s a pause before Hux shifts in his seat, towards Ben. He curls a hand around Ben’s neck and brings him closer. Ben holds still, afraid to breathe and ruin the moment. Hux is so slow at first that Ben thinks it might never happen. He leans forward and brushes his lips against Ben’s, a soft, gentle movement.

“Close your eyes, Ben,” Hux says quietly, the puff of his breath soft against Ben’s lips. Ben’s eyelids slip shut. He feels his gut tighten as Hux presses slowly into a real kiss, his lips against Ben’s, nudging against him in a slight rocking motion. Ben’s mouth falls open and Hux licks inside, startling a small sound from Ben.

“Good,” Hux says, and Ben has to will himself not to move, not to move towards Hux, pressing into his praise. _Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up,_ Ben thinks desperately. It feels good. Better than he thought it would, a mile away from the uncomfortable, confusing battle of tongues in that closet what feels like an age ago. Hux licks inside his mouth and Ben hesitantly returns the movement. He feels Hux’s hand move to the back of his neck, fingers carding into his hair. Ben’s hand twitches on his own thigh.

“Put your hands around my waist,” Hux says, pulling away. His lips are red and wet. Ben’s eyes flit quickly from Hux’s eyes to his mouth. He reaches out and curls his hands around Hux’s sides.

“Careful,” Hux says, fingers tightening in Ben’s hair, like he knows how easily Ben can fuck this up and grip too tight, too clumsy. He presses in again once Ben has obeyed.

“What a shame,” Hux says softly, pulling away, his eyes on Ben’s lips. Ben whimpers a bit as Hux kisses him again, harder. He bites down on Ben’s lower lip and startles a moan from Ben’s throat.

Ben’s embarrassingly hard within a minute more, shifting in his seat. He’s making small, helpless noises with every nudge of Hux’s lips against his, desperate for a vague more.

Hux’s hand slides up Ben’s thigh. He finds Ben hard, trapped between his shorts and the straining muscle of his thigh.

“Oh, Ben,” Hux says, pulling back from a deep kiss. Ben’s hips jerk embarrassingly as Hux trails the back of his hand lightly against Ben’s length. Hux sits back, withdrawing completely.

“Sorry,” Ben says, trying to cover his front with one big hand.

“I didn’t think _that_ would happen,” Hux says, eyes wide. Ben feels his face catch on fire. Hux cards his fingers through his hair and something curls up inside Ben with shame.

“I can go,” Ben says, before he can be thrown out.

“No. No,” Hux says with a sigh, waving a hand. “Let’s take care of it.”

Ben freezes in place, staring at Hux until Hux gives him an impatient look.

“Take it out,” Hux says, and Ben fumbles at his front, curling over himself. His dick’s embarrassingly hard and blood-hot as he takes it out, shoving his shorts down a bit in the process. He can’t seem to make himself meet Hux’s gaze, staring down at his own lap like he’s been caught at a crime scene.

“I’ll take care of it so you don’t leave here in an uncomfortable state,” Hux says, voice firm. He brings a hand to the nape of Ben’s neck, thumb rubbing lightly at the skin there. Ben shivers, fingers grasping at the fabric of his shorts.

“Okay,” Ben says, absurdly grateful at another chance.

“Relax,” Hux says, shifting closer. He brings a hand to Ben’s front and wraps it firmly around the base of Ben’s length, jutting up in his lap. Ben moans instantly, mouth falling open as Hux gives him a firm squeeze. He watches the slit at his tip spasm and drool, precome sliding down the shaft.

“Oh,” Ben says helplessly, hips jerking up.

“What do you think about when you do this, Ben?” Hux asks. He grasps Ben closer to the tip and rubs his thumb around in the wet. Ben’s head knocks back as he tries to keep from pushing into Hux’s grip, desperate for it.

“Just. Someone’s mouth,” Ben gasps out. He breathes out on a moan as Hux gives him another slow, firm stroke.

“Someone taking you in?” Hux prompts. “Stretching their mouth around this ridiculous cock?”

Ben’s face flames red. He hadn’t considered how absurd it would be until Hux put it into words. He feels himself growing harder, shame curling hot in his gut.  

“Is it--do you think they could do it?” he asks, looking up at Hux, afraid of the answer.

Hux snorts. “Probably not,” he says. “They’d have to be very experienced. It would be nowhere near comfortable, have you considered that?”

“No.”

“No, you haven’t,” Hux agrees. He squeezes tight at the base of Ben’s cock in emphasis and Ben nearly comes, hips jerking up as he gasps.

“Oh,” Ben says. His fingers twitch at his side, desperate to touch himself.

“Let’s see how you perform,” Hux says, and he begins to stroke Ben in earnest. It’s a hellish, sweet torture, Ben’s head knocking back, stomach leaping fitfully as Hux strokes him in long, tight pulls. His cock dribbles and spits, and the sound of Hux’s hand on him gets wetter and wetter.

“There you go, let it go,” Hux says, low and encouraging, hand a piston on Ben’s dick. He slides his free hand appreciatively up the flat of Ben’s stomach, pushing his shirt up. Then he reaches down and cups Ben’s heavy balls. He tugs once, twice, then Ben’s whining and curling up as he comes.

“Oh. Uh, uh,” Ben grunts softly. Hux doesn’t stop as Ben’s dick sprays, squeezing it all out of him with a sure hand. It ends up all over Hux’s hand and Ben’s front.

Ben’s still shaking minutely, limp as a noodle when Hux stands up, moving to clean off his hand.  

*

Ben walks home like he’s moving through a dream. It’s like he’s watching someone pilot his body through the streets, hopping the back fence to his home and clomping up the steps. He makes a beeline for his bedroom through the dark, silent house, and locks his door once he’s there. His first instinct is to call Rey, tell someone, possibly shout it from the roof, but he ends up staring at his phone mindlessly instead, like it’s going to spring to life and tell him what to do.

He feels like something should be different, but the house is still the same, his room untouched. It’s still his face in the bathroom mirror, solemn and wide eyed, long hair hiding the jut of his ears. It’s only when he presses his lips together that he feels a soreness, imperceptible to the eye.

*

The next day dawns the same as the ones before it though Ben feels it like an impassable crevasse, dissecting the before and after of yesterday evening. The impulse to share dies quickly. He and Hux are friends, equals. No one would understand that.

He’s at the school track as the sun is rising, running endless laps until the first few cars pull up to the lot behind the bleachers. Then he showers and dresses in the gym locker room and jogs to the cafeteria for breakfast.

Ben doesn’t see Hux until after lunch. Mrs. Downfield summons Ben to her desk as he walks in, looking pleased. Ben’s heart pounds as he tries to read her expression, to decipher what Hux could have possibly told her.

“Well! Congratulations Mr. Solo,” Mrs. Downfield says, and Ben freezes in place. “Some remarkable editing with the help of Mr. Hux. You’re very lucky, your paper shows significant improvement, wouldn't you say?”

“Yes. Yeah,” Ben says, recovering. The feeling is a new and delicate thing; the idea he would come to anyone’s attention for something he didn’t fuck up. He can tell Mrs. Downfield is barely suppressing her curiosity, and he feels a burst of something like pride, that Hux had chosen him, that he has something in confidence with Hux that even other teachers don’t know. On any given day his gratitude towards the school was a deliberate mantra, something Ben had to remind himself of carefully and insistently, how lucky he was to be here. Now he feels it blooming naturally inside him, curious and new.

He absorbs very little of the day’s lesson, thoughts like bees in his head. He gets his paper back at the end, flipping the dog eared corner hiding his grade with impatient fingers. There’s a giant _B+_ circled in red at the top. _Great job!_ Mrs. Downfield’s script reads.  

*

Ben doesn’t hear from Hux that day, or the next. He’s warming up for track practice when he sees Hux in the distance, speaking with the girls’ Varsity coach. He’s dressed in short-sleeves and tailored, charcoal grey slacks. His expression is obscured by the distance and a set of dark aviator glasses. It’s a sweltering afternoon. Ben’s shorts cling limply to his legs. Gravel rattles and crunches underfoot as the B team trains a few yards away. Someone jogs up to Coach Perkins and hands him a pass before skittering off. Perkins glares at the half-sheet of paper in hand, looking murderous.

“Ben!” he barks out, striding forward and scattering a group of freshmen as they jog past.

“Yes, Coach,” Ben replies, unfolding from his stretch. He’s torn between keeping his eyes on Hux in the distance and eyeing the paper in Perkins’ hand.

“We’ve got a meet next week,” Perkins says. He slaps the pass against Ben’s chest. The last time Ben’s GPA had dipped too low, he’d been out half a semester. The warning lies heavy in Perkin’s tone.

“Yes, Coach,” Ben says. He takes the pass from Perkins’ hand, heart racing as he reads through, already jogging away as Perkins starts barking orders. Ben feels a brief pang of sympathy for his cohort, about to feel the wrath of a coach fearing the loss of a runner.  

Hux seems impervious to the heat as Ben approaches, standing straight with his arms loosely crossed. Ben feels the weight of his gaze as he nears, the imperceptible dip of his head as he takes in Ben’s loose tank top and running shorts. He feels himself warming under Hux’s gaze, shy and proud all at once.

Hux turns easily in place as Ben nears and Ben follows, watching the loose swing of Hux’s pale arms as they walk. He imagines skimming his fingers along the soft inner skin of Hux’s forearm.

“Sorry to interrupt like that,” Hux says, not sounding sorry at all. He takes the steps up to the instructor’s hall, Ben watching the precise sway of his trim hips.

“It’s fine,” Ben replies. He nearly knocks into Hux as Hux stops abruptly at the front door. Ben blinks stupidly for a moment, before reaching out and grabbing the handle. He holds the door open for Hux to walk in, then follows behind.

*

“Mrs. Downfield gave me my paper back,” Ben blurts out, as soon as they’re alone in Hux’s office, question left unsaid but heavy on his tongue. Hux takes a seat at an armchair near the empty hearth. He takes his sunglasses in hand, swinging it lazily from one temple.

“I see potential in you,” Hux says, after a pause, apropos of nothing Ben can pinpoint. Ben feels his skin tighten.

“Potential that others might not see yet,” Hux continues. “Does that sound crazy?”

“No. It doesn’t,” Ben replies earnestly. He feels like a dam ready to spill, feels like he’s being seen right to the core of him. Maybe Hux is seeing something no one else can.

Hux laughs, a brief sound. He shakes his head. He sets his sunglasses down on the side table next to him, shifting in his seat.

“I’ve decided to take you under my wing. It isn’t a decision I make lightly. It means you’ll have to listen very carefully and do exactly as I say. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise, would it?”

“No, sir,” Ben says, wondering what exactly Hux means. He watches the slide of Hux’s gaze down his body and flushes hard, an inevitable realization clicking in place. He takes a step towards Hux on autopilot then stops, the image of Hux’s hand around him summoned instantly to the forefront of his mind. Hux’s smile goes wide.

“Get on your knees,” Hux says sternly. Ben stares for a long moment, sure he’s heard wrong. He should say something like _what?_ or walk out, or scuff in Hux’s face, but his body is folding before he’s done with his line of thought. He drops down, knees meeting the plush rug beneath his feet.

Then it’s like a blanket thrown on a low-burning fire, the moment he looks up and meets Hux’s eyes, the constant buzz that clouds Ben’s mind most days quieting down to the kind of stillness he only gets from running track. He hones in on Hux like he’s the only thing in the room and Hux stares intently back, eyes rapt.

“Beautiful,” Hux says. Ben’s stomach twists up. He’s convinced for a gut wrenching moment it’s some hideous joke, but Hux doesn’t laugh. His eyes are intent on Ben, expectant.

“Come here,” Hux says. He pats at his knee then widens his stance. Ben shuffles forward on his knees.

“I’m going to teach you how to make a man feel good. Have you ever done such a thing?” Hux asks, softly. His eyes never stray from Ben’s face. Ben’s mouth opens silently. He feels his whole body thrumming with confusion and need. He wonders how Hux has known everything from the start, how he’d plucked out all the secret, mortifying desires inside of him, or if there’s something written on his face, something Ben isn’t even aware he’s showing.

“No,” Ben replies. He ducks his head.

There’s a brief silence before Hux speaks.

“Good,” he says. Ben responds like a plucked string, wanting more of whatever it is that makes Hux pleased with him.

Hux leans back in his chair, pose dangerously relaxed.

“Go ahead,” he says. Ben leans forward, fingers clumsy at Hux’s belt. He’s intent on the process, eager to show Hux how well he can do it, recalling the way Hux had taken him firmly in hand.  Ben wishes he could find a way to do this and hide his face, reeling that Hux would want that from him, that he’s fine touching Ben and having Ben touch him back.  Hux hardens in Ben’s hand as he concentrates on doing what was done to him, squeezing at Hux and giving him a slow stroke, watching the foreskin slip up over the head. Ben hears Hux exhale slowly. He strokes him again, nerves gathering low in his gut. He feels awkward, inserted into the open vee of Hux’s legs, probably already getting this wrong.

“Put your mouth on it,” Hux says lazily. He cups the back of Ben’s head as Ben ducks down. Ben’s as careful as can be, licking at the head before opening his mouth and taking Hux in, feeding it in slowly. He drools a little and his grip goes wet at the base.

“There you go. Making a mess already,” Hux says. Ben feels the back of his neck go warm. He pulls off with a slight cough. Hux’s fingers go tight in his hair and Ben hurries to take him in again, pressing further, determined.

“That’s it,” Hux breathes out. Ben bobs his head up and down, careful with his teeth, throat working as he tries to swallow and suck. Hux is hot and hard in his hand, the intimate smell and weight on Ben’s tongue making Ben embarrassingly hard. He keeps at it, squirming on his knees as he sucks, taking in the smell and taste and sight of it like he may never get it again.

Hux eventually pulls him off. Ben straightens with a gasp, chest heaving. His lips feel bruised.

“What a waste,” Hux says, cupping the side of Ben’s jaw. He presses roughly against Ben’s lips, smearing the wet around. Ben’s eyes sting. He’s tenting the front of his shorts, desperate to press it on something, and searingly aware of the mess on his face, the way his unwieldy lips are probably swollen and red. Hux tracks the movement of his thumb as he pushes at Ben’s tender mouth.

“You’re going to swallow when I come and clean your mess up after, do you understand?” Hux asks, softly.

“Yes,” Ben says, nodding. His voice is rough, wet. He coughs slightly and ducks down again, intent on his duty. Hux pushes him down further this time, hand going tight on the back of Ben’s neck so his throat spasms and works a few times. It’s harder and more uncomfortable than Ben thought, and he can see now what Hux meant, how Ben shouldn’t do this to someone.  He keeps sucking, pressing his aching dick against the armchair, until Hux finally jerks and comes, breathing harshly above Ben.

“That’s it. Swallow it down. Swallow,” Hux grits out, hips snapping up and making Ben gag. Ben tries to obey quickly, swallowing and licking at Hux’s length. He licks up as much as he can before sitting back, blinking through the wet of his eyes. His jaw feels sore, Hux’s grip branded into the back of his neck.

Hux breathes harshly in the silence, a pink flush high on his cheeks. He cards his fingers through his hair and shoves back at a fallen lock, rising in his seat.

“Off,” Hux says, tucking himself into his slacks. Ben looks for a verdict, but Hux’s expression is unreadable.

Ben falls back on his heels. He scoots away, wondering with bated breath if he’s done something wrong. Hux turns his back to Ben and pours himself a drink, the sound of clinking glass discernable clearly in the quiet room.

“Are you satisfied with your performance?” Hux asks. Ben hesitates. He’s still high off the thrill, rock hard in his shorts and desperate for relief. There’s only one other memory he thinks he’ll cherish as much and it also happened here, in Hux’s office.

“Yes?” Ben replies. He flinches as Hux turns in place, looking like Ben’s said something very stupid.

“I can do better,” Ben says in a rush. He rocks back and forth on his knees without meaning to, pressing the heel of one hand in his lap to stay his erection. He lets out a small whimper as Hux approaches.

“I suppose we can work on it,” Hux says with a small sigh, taking a seat before Ben again.

“Okay,” Ben says. Then, before Hux can change his mind, “I can come after school. Anytime. Or the weekends.”

Hux takes a sip of his drink. He smiles slightly behind his glass. “Somewhat presumptuous of you, Ben,” Hux says. Ben fidgets in the heavy silence, stomach knotted in turmoil. He shuffles forward an inch, seated on his shins. Hux watches with a small smile. He seems to come to a decision, setting his glass down. Ben feels a wash of relief move through him.

“Yes,” Hux says, “Come here.”

*

Ben doesn’t see Hux for another two weeks. He gets a note during first period on the last day before the quarter ends, and his heartbeat picks up just seeing Hux’s precise handwriting; a day, a time, an address Ben doesn’t recognize.

Campus clears up overnight. Ben thinks he’s going to tell Rey about a dozen times before she leaves, but somehow the words never make it out, fluttering around his chest, delicate and unsullied in Hux’s confidence.

He skips rocks at the quarry with Rey and they talk about aligning next quarter’s schedule. He watches the delicate arch of Rey’s nose in profile and the way her thick eyelashes bunch up as she squints, concentrating on her next throw. He thinks about saying it out loud, _I’m seeing Mr. Hux, Hux, he’s seeing me,_ and his chest swells in a funny way, like he can’t even believe it himself.

Then he thinks about what he’d done that last time, how Hux had sat in his armchair and extended his leg and gotten Ben to--Ben had straddled him like a desperate thing and gotten off like that. He flushes funny just remembering it, and his next throw veers off course, his arm feeling loose and heavy. There was no way he could explain--whatever this was, the way he was inside that no one could ever know, the secret need Hux pulled from him.

Ben sees Rey off early the next morning, throat tightening with all the unsaid words he can’t tell her yet. She sticks her nose up at him from the back window as her cab pulls away and Ben can’t suppress the grin that stretches his face wide, thoughts already on Hux’s office, settling on the plush rug at Hux’s feet. Ben responds by grabbing his ears and pulling them out as he sticks out his tongue, crossing his eyes until the cab pulls off far enough and Rey becomes a mere shadow in the rear window.

*

Ben usually sleeps through his mornings, unmoored without the structure of school to fill his time. Last break, he’d made enough money mowing lawns to buy himself a 3 speed. His Dad had taken another raincheck at the time for a fishing trip they’d been planning since May, and Ben had kicked a dent the size of his fist into the garage door. He’d avoided the evidence of his misdeed for months after, eyes skipping over it every time he’d drawn near.

Ben wakes at the crack of dawn the day he’s supposed to see Hux, body humming with energy. He arrives at Hux’s place well before noon, and wastes an hour at a cafe three blocks down, staring up at the glinting exterior of Hux’s building. He has to be buzzed in, squinting at a row of names before he spots _A. Hux_ and can fumble with the tiny button besides it, careful not to press two at once. There’s a guard in the lobby who looks up once then ignores Ben as he walks past. Ben measures out his steps, deliberately casual, feeling scuffy and out of sorts in the spotless lobby. He doesn’t breathe until he’s safely in the elevator and feels the first jerk of its ascent.

*

Hux meets Ben at the door. He leads Ben through a narrow hallway which opens up to a living room with massive windows and high ceilings. The walls are papered in slate. A trio of low hanging lamps of charcoal to Ben’s left match the pillows and throw on a long, velvet sofa. There’s an oversized breakfast bar at the end which connects to a modest kitchen space. Hux is dressed in what Ben imagines is his version of comfort. His hair is slightly tousled, eyes sleepy like he might have just woken up. There’s an uncorked bottle of wine on the kitchen counter, a near empty glass at its side.

Hux kisses Ben in the living room with little preamble. Ben manages to get hard like that, and Hux knows it within seconds, cupping Ben through his jeans and giving him an appreciative squeeze. Ben moans against Hux’s lips, hands grasping at Hux’s sides.

It happens fast and slow like before, like Ben’s brain is playing catch up and flubs it, fast forwarding through bits and moving like molasses through the rest.

Hux leads Ben to the living room sofa. He pulls his shirt off and shimmies out of his pants, slim and pale, skin flawless in the golden morning light. He smirks at Ben and leans down to kiss him again. Ben makes a soft sound, muffled by the press of their lips. Hux tastes like the wine Ben tried last summer. They’d gone to a distant cousin’s wedding and Ben had spent the majority of the evening sulking around the edges of the vast ballroom. His dad had let him sip from his mom’s glass, waving off her protestations.

Hux pushes Ben back to break the kiss and sits down. He presses something into Ben’s hand before lying back, movements slower than usual, languid. Ben looks down. It’s a thin packet of lube. His heartbeat ratchets up, pulse quickening.

“Go ahead,” Hux says. He curls his knees and spreads his legs. Ben’s eyes shoot up to Hux’s face.

“Put it on that ridiculous thing between your legs,” Hux says. He nudges at Ben’s knee with one foot.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Ben says, stiffly. Confusion and arousal war in his chest.

Hux rolls his eyes.

“Yes it is, you could injure someone, don’t you know?” he says. He rubs at his chest with one hand and smiles slowly.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Ben grits out, frowning despite himself. He tears at the packet with stiff fingers.

“You sure about that?” Hux says, eyebrows raised. Ben grapples for an answer and doesn’t find one. He keeps his head down as he slicks up his cock, hot and swollen in his hand. He has to bite back a moan, before shuffling forward on his knees. Hux grabs a cushion and stuffs it under the small of his back. It elevates his lower half, and he spreads his legs further as Ben settles between them. His heart feels like it might leap from his chest. He settles a hesitant hand to Hux’s chest and strokes it down his middle.

“Mmm,” Hux hums out, moving like a cat into Ben’s touch. “Lower. Come here.”

Ben surges forward and Hux guides him into a kiss. He feels Hux reach between them and start to stroke himself. Ben’s hand pauses besides Hux’s, reaching for him. Hux pulls away from the kiss.

“No. Lower,” he says. Ben feels his face flame as he reaches between Hux’s legs. When he finds Hux’s entrance, Hux pulls away with a small sigh and pushes into Ben’s fingers with his hips.

“Put them in,” he says.

“Okay,” Ben replies, not knowing where to look. Hux’s face is flushed and relaxed, tight around the eyes with anticipation. His hole is slick, and Ben easily sinks in his index finger.

“Another,” Hux says. Ben pushes a second finger in, mouth falling open as he watches it sink into the hot clutch of Hux’s body. Hux’s thickening cock twitches where it lies against the flat of his stomach. Hux cups at his balls, gives himself a slow stroke. He circles his hips slowly for a bit, enjoying it, then knocks his knee against Ben’s side, prodding him into movement.

Ben shuffles forward, a warm flush spreading in his chest as he guides himself to Hux’s entrance. He’s hard, drooling a line of wet as he presses the blunt tip to Hux’s hole.

“That’s it,” Hux breathes out. He’s rocking into the movement, encouraging. Ben steadies a hand on either side of Hux and presses forward, watching with wide eyes as his dick sinks inside Hux. It’s like a disappearing act, the slick pink of Hux’s entrance stretching wide around Ben’s shaft as he fucks in.

“Ahhh. Oh, that’s it,” Hux says. He sighs out softly, head knocking back, eyelashes fluttering. He grips at Ben’s forearms, muscles straining as he bottoms out. “Oh that’s it, big boy. All the way in.”

Ben whimpers as he bottoms out. Hux is so fucking tight around him; wet and unbelievably hot inside, and he can’t believe it’s happening even as he watches Hux take him to the root. Hux is breathing soft, eyes closed, moving his hips in little circles so his ass grinds down on Ben’s dick.

“You okay?” Ben asks, worry springing in his chest. He wonders if he’s hurt Hux somehow and doesn’t know it.

“Yes,” Hux replies, voice strained. “Start moving.”

Ben pulls his hips back. Hux groans and Ben stutters to a stop, alarm pinging through his chest.

“Keep going. Faster,” Hux says, fingers sliding up Ben’s arms and squeezing at his shoulders. He curls a leg around Ben and pulls at him.

“Oh, _fuuck,_ ” Hux groans out as Ben bottoms out again. Ben whimpers, balls heavy between his legs, every movement a delicious torture. He takes up a rhythm at Hux’s urging, fast and steady. Hux cries out with every thrust, little _uh, uh,_ sounds falling from his parted lips. Ben kisses at Hux’s chest and shoulders as he thrusts inside him, wanting to soothe him with no direction, not knowing why.

“Good. Fucking beast. Pound it in,” Hux says. He reaches for his cock and pulls at it, stroking fast as Ben slams his hips against him. Ben feels it in his gut, tightening inexorably, his heavy balls pulling up.

“Oh, god. _Hux,_ ” he says, hips stuttering as his orgasm draws near. Hux moans and comes, ass clamping down on Ben’s cock, tipping him over the edge. Ben whimpers helplessly and his cock jerks and sprays inside Hux. He stutters to a stop, head hanging down as they both breathe into the silence.

“Pull it out,” Hux says, chest heaving. “Slowly.” He’s flushed all over his throat and chest, hair disheveled and legs lax around Ben’s hips.   

Ben pulls out, whimpering at the stimulation. He stares at the join of their bodies, the dribble of come that slips from Hux’s entrance. Hux groans and stretches. He pushes at Ben with one foot.

“Go and get cleaned up,” he says. Ben thinks he should probably kiss him. He scrambles to his feet, feeling sticky and loose-limbed. He hesitates, looking down at Hux as Hux sits up, threads an impatient hand through his hair.

There’s a moment where Ben lingers, watching Hux stretch and begin to clean up. Then it passes, inexorable as clouds after a summer storm, a curtain pulling shut.

“Go on,” Hux says, and when he looks up his face is like the first time Ben saw him, distant as a star.

*


End file.
